Julia Spirit
by The Solar Surfer
Summary: Julia Burke is in no way affiliated with the infamous, really pretty and totally more awesome ghost Julia Spirit. She's just a kid journalist for Casper High. Not Danny/OC. This was just a short fic I had, may or may not continue.
1. A Field Trip to Hell

**I don't know if I'll ever be adding to this, as I had only gotten this far and hadn't worked on it in at least six months and its been languishing in my old file folder since, so...I don't know. I just posted this for someone to enjoy. I really like the characters, even though I had no intention of continuing the story. **

**If you want me to continue the story, please comment!**

**Wanted: Constructive Criticism and Reviews!**

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><p><strong><span>Chapter One<span>**

**A Field Trip To Hell**

Hi, my name is Julia Burke. I am in no way affiliated with the infamous, really pretty and totally more awesome super- ghost Julia Spirit.

But, uh, I'll get to that later.

I am, however, a totally legitimate student of Casper High, okay? Because of that, I get to unwillingly participate in the big field trip to some place in Wisconsin. A giant mansion that was once the home of some cheese king. Apparently, it was supposed to be a lesson on history and how it affects us today, but I don't get it. I honestly wouldn't have gone. Unfortunately, being on the school newspaper doesn't exactly give me much of a choice in the matter.

In short, it was my duty to get to the bottom of this. What was the importance of cheese in the U.S.? How did it influence the past's (and today's) economy? How many people still ate cheese? Who was looking forward to this trip? Who owned the mansion? Who was generous enough to give us the tour? Where was it? When was it?

Those were the questions I had to answer. Even now, I was thinking of more questions that our newspaper advisor would probably critique me on once we get back. Tapping my pen against my lip, I looked out the window and day-dreamed, ignoring quite successfully the flying balls of paper and screaming students as they rocked the bus. There seemed to be a rebellion against their suppression of free speech, and every single kid seemed happy to wage war with the three extremely outnumbered chaperones. I estimated, in the back of my head, that they would probably gang together and physically attack the adults and hogtie them and drive the bus to California.

But that's not very important right now.

The bus ride itself was incredibly boring. After the first two hours had gone by, any excitement of going there was in the first place had completely dissipated (the chaperones threatened Death by Detention and Possible Repeat of the Ninth Grade to regain dominance – least to say, it worked). Kids were talking in low monotones, reading comic books, or listening to their music. The teachers seemed mighty smug about their victory and talked among themselves.

The teachers were specifically chosen to keep the kids in control, although it wasn't exactly necessary at this point. One of them was Mr. Lancer, mutually hated by students and several members of faculty alike. He was tall, bearded, with the sharp eyes of an eagle and a middle-aged pot belly. He was in no way my favorite teacher, but I had to pretend I liked him because not only did he teach English (and was ultimately the school principal), but he also read the newspaper before we issued it to the students at large. If I pulled so much as make a spelling mistake, I might as well sign a detention slip for the next week.

The other teacher was Miss Crusoe. She was the music teacher, but everyone knew she came along because Mr. Lancer had a not-so-secret crush on her and she wasn't sacrificing her job just because the principal was attracted to her. She was petite and usually dressed in skirts and pastels. Miss Crusoe had a pretty face and sparkling eyes, but it was sometimes hard to notice when she was hiding behind a pair of wire-frame glasses.

While Mr. Lancer enjoyed yelling at any student (usually Danny Fenton) who so much talked to the person behind him (Danny Fenton's friends), he also liked giving students plenty of detention (like Danny Fenton). The only kids he let do whatever the heck they wanted were members on the football team, especially Dash Baxter. Dash Baxter was heralded as one of the greatest (and cockiest, stupidest, and I'm pretty sure illiterate) quarterbacks Casper High has ever taught. Thus, he indirectly gave Mr. Lancer respect and fame amongst other schools and teachers.

You gotta love the limelight.

I was used to it, though. I spent a lot of time interviewing said football team members and anyone else vaguely popular and/or influential at Casper High, so arrogance was something I had to deal with daily. The most rewarding part was asking tough and confusing questions that dimmed their little halos of awesomeness. It also got them to shut up.

But all that besides, I was expecting similar experiences when writing about the field trip and interviewing the guy that owned the cheese mansion. His name is…um…_something_ Masters. I didn't get the first part because I kind of procrastinated in the research last night.

He had been some sort of scientist, and got really sick when he was still in college, but…well, the information was kind of fuzzy. I could always ask questions when we got there.

Whenever that was.

I watched the fields of corn and pumpkins and cows chug by. It was all very serene, but not very interesting if you wanted to stay awake. I tapped my pen against the notepad in my hand, thinking of a headline. It needed to be catchy, something that belonged on the front page. Big, flashy, but intriguing enough so people actually read it.

I was, _ahem_, top journalist on the school newspaper. I got a lot of big scoops (if any at all), and went to almost all the sports games and big events. Sure, sometimes they were covered by other people, but I was still first pick. I happened to pride myself on my ability to cover the stories, but it was all moot if the thing turned out to be a bust – Or worst, had to be avoided because we had another ghost infestation. What a downer.

Yeah, you heard me. Ghosts.

Let's just say Amity Park is a kind of hot spot for paranormal activity.

But there weren't any ghosts here, which was just fine by me. Cruising on a bus heading to Nowhere, USA was unlikely to offer anything interesting to ghosts. Just a bunch of thirty annoying, useless teenagers crammed onto a big, yellow vehicle. What could possibly happen?  
>And just to tempt fate, nothing did.<p>

As soon as we got off the interstate, we came into a very smarmy looking neighborhood, which looked more like giant fields in between even bigger houses. The driveways (or garages) were huge – filled with sparkling black and white limos, Hummers, and even several Ferraris and Jaguars. Kids smashed their faces against the windows, ooing and ahhing at the sights of people living in way better conditions than we ever will. Even Mr. Lancer was drooling as we passed by a house with a particularly large golf course and derby.

The sky was bright blue, not a single cloud in sight. Even though we were racing by, I could see the wind gently pulling at the trim lawns, the grass flashing brilliant golds and greens under the sunlight. It was certainly a sight to behold.

"Hey, Jules," Milo Haynes waved his hand, catching my attention. He held up his camera and grinned, "How much do you think they're gonna pay pics of the rich and famous?"

Milo was the photographer of the newspaper, and wherever there was something mildly entertaining going on, you can count on him being at the scene, snapping pictures like crazy. He'd use whatever he had on hand: Camera, videotape, iPods, even drawing stick figures on his hand if he had to. One time he even stole someone else's tech just so he could get images of a ghost kid saving the town.

(Of course, he had to return the camera, and Mr. Lancer wouldn't let the pictures on the paper because he himself wasn't a very big fan of spooks. Even though it cost us what could've been the greatest paper ever made, I guess the principal still had a point. Ghosts were a little too controversial for a lowly high school.)

"I don't think so, Milo," I snorted, "What celebrities live in the middle of Wisconsin?"

Milo made a face and put down the camera, slightly put out. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Looking forward to the scoop?"

"Let's just say I'm not the biggest fan of cheese."

Milo raised an eyebrow. "And why's that? It's only the home of one of the biggest cheese producers of all time. They say the former king stills haunts the mansion's very halls, demanding its cheese."

"I'm lactose-intolerant, remember?"

"Oh, right."

"And I doubt it's haunted. C'mon, how is a cheese ghost supposed to be scary?"

"Well, nausea, diarrhea, and indigestion come to mind. I'd be worried if I were you."

"Oh, just shut up and take your pictures."

We arrived at the mansion, which looked way more like a castle than anything else. Milo started snapping away. Kids were ushered off by Mr. Lancer, who threatened Death by Clapping Chalkboard Erasers if we didn't haul butt and get off in less than 3.2 seconds. Needless to say, we rushed off like it was about to blow.

The students were talking with more freedom now that we were outside, finally able to stretch our legs. I took note of our surroundings and made a few markings in my notebook describing it. Fancy neighborhood, neon green grass cut at exactly two and a half inches high, with a towering grey mansion standing before us in all its majesty.

I looked down and found myself mildly impressed. This guy was so rich he could afford superb cobblestone driveways, lacking in those troublesome potholes and cracks. Man, this guy is good.

Said guy was standing at the top of the stairs. The students around me quieted as we climbed the steps up to the huge front doors. The man standing in front of them carried quite a presence. He was tall, taller than Mr. Lancer, in an incredibly immaculate suit, a red tie, and white hair tied back in a low ponytail. The man had a hooked nose and a strong jaw, and seemed rather buff for an old guy. I had to admit, he certainly looked the part.

The man gazed down at us with a look of thinly veiled distaste, like we were nothing more than pond scum. It was nothing more than I expected, but I had at least hoped he had the decency to hide it better.

"Welcome, children," the man addressed us like we were clueless five-year-olds, which did not go down well with some of us. I saw some students beginning to scowl and whisper to one another, no doubt trading rude comments. "I am your host, Vlad Masters. This here is my lovely abode, once home to the honorable King of Cheese. I'm sure you know all about him."

Vlad Masters condescending gaze was met with thirty blank ones.

He sighed, like we were some nuisance he didn't want to deal with. "Very well, then. Come inside, and I will give you the tour."

The doors inexplicably opened on their own, which was awesome in itself. On the other side was a grand entrance hall, filled with…

Green Bay Packers merchandise.

The sight was met with mutual confusion. What? This cheese guy is a Packers fan? Are you serious?

Indeed, the hall was adorned with green and gold. On either side were glass cases filled with football jerseys, cheese heads, signed cleats, and who knows what else. The confusion quickly morphed into joy and laughter, especially amongst fans of the team.

One kid shouted, "This is so cool!"

Vlad Masters smiled at the group, searching for the one who yelled. It was probably Dash or one of his cronies. So he didn't completely despise us. That was good. It'd make it easier for me to interview him later.

"Remember kids!" Miss Crusoe called before the kids could go crazy at the sight of the Packers collection. "We'll be here for the entire day! If you need to use the bathroom, go now! We'll be having lunch at 11:30, so don't leave your food behind!"

Vlad Masters chuckled softly, gazing levelly at Miss Crusoe. "It's quite alright. My chef will serve the students. He's world-renowned, and we have more than enough food to go around."

"Oh!" Miss Crusoe looked at Vlad Masters with a combination of surprise and gratitude. "Well, that's very kind of you, Mr. Masters, but I don't think…"

"No, it's quite all right," Vlad Masters said smoothly, smiling. "I'd be more than happy to oblige. You have no need to fret, Miss…?"

"Crusoe." Miss Crusoe blushed. "Daphne Crusoe."

The students watched with a mixture of awe and disgust. Was this weird dude _flirting_ with our _teacher?_

Apparently so, and Mr. Lancer was not to be outdone. Pulling Miss Crusoe back and getting rather up in Masters' face, he sneered and said, "Why don't we just move on with the tour, please?"

Vlad Masters wasn't even perturbed by Mr. Lancer's hostility. Looking at the principal coolly, he said, "Why, of course. I was just getting to that."

There was something strange about Vlad Masters, I had to admit. Something creepy, in fact. Mr. Lancer scared a lot of people, even the police, but this Vlad Masters guy looked at him like he was just an annoying bug. Of course, we _all_ sort of did, but none of us were in the power to act on it. Masters, however, had ten times the power and fifty times the money needed to confront this guy. He had nothing to be afraid of.

As the tour commenced, I learned a lot of things I could've lived without, but I didn't write that part down. I had to pay attention, just so I could get this right. I knew Mr. Lancer was paying attention because not once did he take his eye off of Masters. He'd read my story to check for every little fault possible, so I had to make it absolutely perfect. Or _else_.

Milo was beside me, snapping pictures as I took notes. Every once in a while, he'd peek at my work and mention a few things that I missed or forgotten.

Of course, I'd contribute back and tell him to stop taking pictures of other girl's backsides. We would then continue to argue, which usually resulted in us having a quiet fight where I managed to steal his camera and delete the pictures. He'd then forgive me and go back to taking pictures of more important things. There's more than one reason why this guy was my best friend.

So I took notes. And notes and notes and notes. Blah blah blah. I know that doesn't sound very professional for a girl who takes her job in the newspaper very seriously, but you have to be honest: it was a stretch of even _my_ imagination to think of a reason why this should be in a paper, much less on the front page.

But I wasn't going to complain just yet. So long as my name is under the headline, I was all good.

I won't get into the deep. I mean, who really cares about the Cheese King, all his 321 cows, 548 workers, and the millions he made in the process. How his cheese increased the economic spending exponentially (I don't know what that means, but it sounds intelligent and will probably slip under Mr. Lancer's radar), or how everyone living in a fifty mile radius suddenly started to wear the colors orange and yellow in the following years of his success?

Then again, more people were interested in the Packers stuff, and from what I saw, so was Vlad Masters. He spoke in a dull tone whenever the topic of cheese came around, but was downright hyper when it came to the football team. He even had a football signed to him by a legend. I told Milo to get a picture of it.

One smart kid in the back of the class mocked Vlad Masters, "If you love them so much, why don't you just _buy_ the team?"  
>Vlad Masters turned to glare at the one who spoke. I turned around, but there were too many boys to figure out who said it. In a barely controlled voice, he growled, "Because the city won't <em>let<em> me, dear child. Does that answer your impudent question?"

I stared at Masters. Whoa. Was it just me, or did his eyes go red? Like, _literally_. Was he such a big fanatic that he went nuts over a single blow? Maybe he wasn't as smooth as he thought.

Now _that _is news!

"Uh," Dash made a face. "What does impudent mean?"

Vlad ignored him.

The tour continued like nothing happened. I was still a little disconcerted by what I saw. Then again, why should it bother me? I have seen _way_ stranger, and a trick of the light was no reason to freak out. Besides, Vlad Masters was just an old guy in a big house all by himself. What was there to fear?

"So, as you can see, I have every jersey known to man…"

I couldn't help it. My mind wandered. I started to chew on my nails, which was a habit Mom kept trying to make me stop. She even tried dipping them in lemon juice today, but that just made them tastier. I know, I know, too much info, but still…

I looked around, taking in the sight. We had made a round trip around the mansion, ducking into several rooms even bigger than the entrance hall. This place was definitely once used for social gatherings. There was a gigantic ballroom with beautiful chandeliers on the ceiling and extravagant rainbows of stain-glass windows. I didn't know what Vlad Masters did, but he was definitely loaded.

I also wondered if he was married. There was no inclination of so, but I had to wonder why a rich and very successful man like him wouldn't have a family, or at least a girlfriend of some sort. In fact, he seemed rather alone here, minus the chef he mentioned earlier.

Maybe that was why he was hitting on Miss Crusoe.

Oh, man. I shuddered. Let's not think about that again.

"Hey," someone elbowed me in the ribcage, and I took my nails out of my mouth long enough to glance at Milo. He said in a low voice, "Stop with the nail-biting. You could get sick."

"I've been doing it for years, dude," I hissed at him, eyeing Mr. Lancer in case he saw us talking during the tour. "And I turned out perfectly fine."

"Your nails look like they've been in a war zone."

"Good. Maybe people will get a clue and stop trying to mess with me."

"Jules, nobody messes with you in the first place. They're all so scared that you might give them a bad rep."

"They do not! Did you see the way Paulina dissed me the other day? She obviously didn't have my job in mind when she was going at her usual Julia-bashing."

"Well, it's not like –"

"Mr. Haynes!" Mr. Lancer barked. "Is there something you'd like to share with the class?"  
>Milo looked up, pale. Everyone was staring at him. "Uh, no, sir."<p>

Mr. Lancer did not remove his piercing gaze from Milo. "Then remain silent, unless you want another month's worth of detention in my office. Cleaning the floors with a toothbrush."

Milo gulped and looked down, fiddling with his camera like it was the most important thing in the world.

Everyone turned their attention back to Vlad Masters, who seemed amused by the scene that just took place.

"Well, let us continue…"

"Well, that wasn't mortifying at all," Milo muttered sarcastically. "Just embarrassed myself in front of a really rich guy in his own house. How's _that_ for a first impression?"

"Well, for what it's worth," I whispered, pretending to write more notes. "I've seen worse. Just be glad you don't have to interview people. Sometimes it's a nightmare."

"Oh, don't even _start_ with nightmares." Milo grimaced, rubbing his face with one hand. "I had a totally psychedelic one last night that made _no sense at all_…"

Miss Crusoe, who had to stand on her tiptoes to be seen over the heads of most of the students, called out, "Lunch is being serving in the dining hall. Be on your best manners and please clean up afterwards."

"And for the love of all things sweet," Vlad addressed us with a pained look. "Please don't ruin the carpet. It was a gift from the Duke of Wales."

Milo blinked. "He knows the Duke of Wales? Julia, you _have_ to ask him about that."

"Because Welsh carpets are all the rage today. Yeah, I'm sure that'll make everyone's day." I rolled my eyes.

"Are you always so sarcastic?"

"Only on my good days."

The dining hall was basically a really long room with a giant table in the middle. There was one waiter there, but he didn't seem interested in taking anyone's orders. He remained absolutely stoic, even after Dash and his pals made blatant jibes at him. I secretly hoped they wouldn't get their lunch.

"So," Milo sat down beside me and presented his camera. "What do you think?"

I took the camera and started to sift through the photos, deleting anything that related to female anatomy or random shots of his fingers or shoe-laces. Milo complained that I was taking his fun away, but I acted like I didn't hear him. Some of the pictures were actually pretty good – Milo was a better photographer than he thought himself to be. He avoided glare when taking pictures through the glass casing, and had a miraculous ability to use whatever light he had to his advantage. Needless to say he enjoyed his cameras, and only bought the best. Well, from what he could afford, at least.

"The jersey shots are pretty good, and I really like the football on its pedestal, but why do you keep getting the old photos with dead people in them? It kind of seems redundant. We could always get them off the Internet."

"But it looks way cooler on the camera."

"You just won't admit that I'm right."

"Ha-ha. You're hilarious."

Another person sat on the other side of me. That would be Sophia Underwood, future lawyer and softball extraordinaire. She always wore her hair in a ponytail and her most prized possession was a water-proof, Gortex watch, which she claimed survived an attack from a rabid ferret. Details on that story are dodgy, and her own bias obviously takes away critical ethos, but it was nevertheless a thrilling tail of bravery, determination, and the clever use of a sock monkey.

Sophia took one look at the camera and another at the notes, then declared with finality, "Vlad's weirding you out, isn't he?"  
>I stared at her. "How did you know?"<p>

Sophia grinned and tapped at her head. "It's all up here. Did you get everything you needed? Because I seriously need the down low on the cheese factor."

"Why?" I asked, bewildered.

"Debate team. 'Are field trips being used to their full potential, or are they just a way for students and faculty alike to escape the confinements of school?'"

"I have no idea." Milo admitted, deadpan.

Sophia scrunched up her nose. "I wasn't asking you. Julia, please tell me you've got something."

"Yeah. Everyone here doesn't care about the cheese as much as the Packers."

Sophia slammed her fist onto the table, determination in her eye as she stared off into space, looking like a political star out of movie. "_I knew it_."

Suddenly, a plate was set before me, and I almost jumped out of my socks. But it was just another waiter, unloading clean plates in front of the kids sitting at the table. On one end was Mr. Lancer, who had Miss Crusoe sitting close by his side. He was glaring at the other end, where Vlad Masters sat with calm regality. Vlad Masters appeared not to notice the mental daggers being thrown at him.

"Sweet," Milo looked around as another waiter came by, setting down utensils in napkins. "Where's the grub?"

Sophia rolled her eyes. "Maybe you'd see it if you get rid of that shag carpet you call hair."

Milo's hands snapped to his head, clutching his skull protectively. "Hey, my hair is just fine, thank you very much! It has taken me valuable time to get it to just the right length. Besides, Mom's making me get a hair-cut next month."

"Thank God," Sophia dropped her head on the table, closing her eyes and smiling. "I won't have to be looking at an eyesore all day."

Milo glared at her.

I looked from one to the other, grabbed my knife and fork, grinned, and said, "This is the start of a wonderful relationship."  
>"Shut up!" Sophia and Milo said in unison.<p>

I grinned only wider.

Then, lunch was served.

Our meal was composed of a variety of things, which I guessed explained why the waiters didn't ask for our orders. Then again, this wasn't a restaurant, and the chef would probably very irritated by taking the orders of a bunch of school kids with questionable tastes.

There were the basics – French fries and burgers, which was what most kids immediately reached for. There were a several kinds of salads for those of the vegetarian variety, with a whole ton of dressings. Why a world-renowned chef would have these on hand, I wouldn't know.

There were also several foods I've never seen before, perhaps for those with a more exotic or elegant taste than their peers. I didn't know, but I wasn't going to risk it until I knew what it was. While in any other case I would usually jump right into anything new, food was the only thing I didn't kid around with. I once had food poisoning in Kindergarten from trying a 'Green Eggs and Ham' thing, and ever since I've taken precaution in what I put into my mouth.

I stuck with the safe burger and French fries, and was delighted to find that, _boy_, even for a famous chef, this guy made great junk food.

As I was chowing down, I received a tap on the shoulder. I turned around and saw Samantha Manson, a Goth girl who liked purple lipstick, combat boots, and was a proud ultra recyclo-vegetarian, looked down at me.

While Sam and I weren't exactly rivals, she had an issue with the corporate media and it kind passed on into the high school version. I didn't blame her (because I had a similar opinion), but it was kind of hard to deal with the forced politeness she treated me with. "The Masters dude wants to talk to you."

Then again, maybe she just doesn't like Vlad.

"Okay, thanks," I picked up my notebook and pencil. There could only be one thing he wanted to talk about. He probably already knew that there was a student journalist here. Maybe Mr. Lancer alerted him.

Mr. Masters sat at the very end of the table to my left. The seats in his immediate area were completely empty. It seemed as though none of the students wanted to come near him. There wasn't a lot I could say for that, since I wasn't exactly jumping at the chance to sit next to him, either.

Vlad Masters gave me a cool smile as I sat down on the seat to his right, offering me his hand. "Hello. I believe you are the reporter for this class. Am I correct?"

When his considerably larger hand was wrapped around mind, I was startled to find that it was ice-cold to the touch. It was all I could do not to jerk back in shock.

"Y-yes," I stuttered, trying not to act like an idiot. Man, it would stink if I botched the entire thing before it even started. "That's me. Julia Burke."

But Mr. Masters only smiled and said, "Miss Burke. Ah, I'm sorry if my touch surprised you. I have…uh…poor circulation."

"I can see that," I managed to say, then wished I could take it back. Did that sound disrespectful? It was disrespectful, wasn't it? "Uh, I mean, no. Well, yeah, I was a little, um, freaked out but, uh –"

"It's quite alright, my dear. I get that reaction a lot. Now, I assume you have some questions for me?"

"Uh, right," I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. Why was I so suddenly freaking out about this? I didn't get it. I was usually chill in all my other interviews. Okay, Julia, relax. Find your inner peace.

But any inkling of inner peace was zapped right out of me when I discovered I had prepared no notes, no questions for Vlad Masters. My heart almost jumped out of my throat. What? Where did they go? I swore I had written something down during the bus ride! Or maybe that was my imagination lying to me…Oh, crap. Oh crap oh crap oh crap. What was I going to do?

Chillax. Breathe. Improvise. Start with the basics and move on from there.

I found my inner peace again and continued, trying regain some dignity. "Uh, well, what led to your success? What's your backstory?"

"Now, _that_ is an excellent question." Vlad Masters smiled, putting down his fork and knife. He seemed genuinely pleased to talk about himself. I noticed he had bags under his eyes. "Well, now, where should I begin? I'd like to say that it all started when I was a very young boy, aspiring for greatness – But no, my life didn't really take off until I was in college. I was in the science and technology region, you see. I was with a group of friends, and we were working on a rather exhilarating project."

He paused for a second and I jumped on the chance, "Who were you working with? What was this project about?"

Masters thought about the questions for a moment, as if debating whether or not to tell me. "Well, it was actually just me and two others in on the gig. Everyone else thought we were insane, but I knew we were on to something. You see, Miss Burke, we were trying to create a portal into the ghost realm, to create a connection between that one and the real world. Unfortunately, it worked."

"Um. Unfortunately?"

"Well, you see, one of my partners was a bumbling fool of a man. He made a miscalculation, causing a rather explosive reaction in the miniature gateway we built. I was in the way and contracted a terrible…affliction from the exposure. I spent many, many weeks in the hospital, and much longer in rehab, when my life fell apart. But all that time allowed me to plan and visualize my future, and thus –"

Vlad stopped unexpectedly. I did to, my pen coming to an abrupt stop. Why had he stopped? I looked up, and saw that he was gazing down at the watch on his wrist. At first, I didn't see what was wrong. Then I noticed the blinking red light.

Vlad Masters stood up so sharply he almost knocked over his plate. He paused and turned to me, "Please excuse me, Miss Burke. I have some business to deal with."

I blinked in confusion, watching as he walked away. What was _that_all about?

In a daze, I stood up and returned to my friends, stewing in my thoughts.

Sophia looked at me, gauging my emotions like she usually did. "What did you do wrong?"

I was at a loss for words. "I-I've got no idea! He just up and left!" Then I started to feel a little angry. He could've at least given me a better explanation, or something that didn't make me feel like a total loser. "His watch started blinking red and he was off like nobodies' business."

Milo looked around, "Nobodies' business is right. But then why is that Danny guy gone?"

"Danny? Danny Fenton?" Sophia took roll of the students at the table. Indeed, Danny Fenton had mysteriously disappeared. "Didn't he just go to the bathroom?"

"Yeah," Milo frowned. "Like ten minutes ago."

Sophia turned to me. "You should go check it out, Jules."

"WHAT?" I blurted, baffled by her directness. "Why me?"

"You're the reporter. You're good at finding the answers. Besides, you've got the cover – just say you're looking around to get details for the article. It's not going to be hard."

"I thought _you_ were the gutsy one, Soph,"

"Oh, I am," Sophia shrugged in a yeah-that's-true-but-so-what kind of way. "But you know how I am. I kinda get a little too enthusiastic."

She had a point. Sophia was a bit of a _rules-optional_ kind of person. Like laws and codes were just friendly suggestions. This was also why she's failed the driver's test. More than once. She nearly gave the last guy a heart attack after she burned a red light (which is "Stop…if you want to," in Sophia-Speak), and thought the cops were trying to race her when they pursued. It's kind of ironic how she wants to go to law school. Milo was betting she'd punch the judge in the face before she even had her first case.

If she were the one to go into the espionage business, expect a lot of extravagance and a blatant lack of respect for _any_ privacy whatsoever. She's probably alert the people she was spying on with all her theatrics before they even had a chance to give anything away.

I sighed. "I have no choice in the matter, do I?"

Milo patted me on the back. "Good girl."

I took a deep breath, trying not to freak out. Okay. This was completely normal. Just get out of your chair, proclaim your bathroom needs, and get out. That's all. Then find out where Vlad and/or Danny went. No biggie.

It was all just a silly game. I knew it. I could tell from the look in Sophia's eye that she thought this was just something fun to do, just to prove one could. She didn't expect anything serious to come out of this. Boy, I hope she was right.

I left the dining hall without getting pulled over by the Lancer Gestapo. I went left, which was the way Masters went, but after passing a couple doors, going around some corners, and checking into empty rooms, I realized that I was lost.

I turned around. The chatter of students had disappeared into the great expanse of the mansion, slipping into the nooks and crannies of the corridors. Never before had I felt so alone.

I should've made Sophia come with me.

I almost wanted to panic and cry, which was something I usually did when frustrated or stressed. But I didn't want to lose my cool in case someone came by. I mean, maybe I wasn't as lost as I thought and I was just freaking out. You never know, right?

I kept moving, hoping that maybe I'd come across another carbon life-form. But you know how I made that observation about how Vlad probably lives alone in this place? Well, I was _absolutely right_.

There was literally no one in the halls. My footsteps echoed off the walls, which was really creepy in the sense that it reminded me of every horror movie I've watched (albeit, not a lot, but the ones I did were seriously whacked out). Even worse, there were armor stands all along the walls, and it felt as if I were being watched by a bunch of faceless guards in plumed helmets.

I tried to breathe normally. I realized I still had my pen in my hand, and gripped it firmly. If someone tried to jump me, I could use it as a weapon. Okay, sure, I wasn't trained in self-defense, but I could at least aim for the eyes or throat.

The hall I was going down came to a dead end, and I didn't see another turn. The hall ended with a big portrait of the Big Cheese himself in all his royal glory. I barely even noticed it when I heard the sound of voices coming from the door to the right.

They were getting louder, and I heard the knob jiggle. Whirling around, I managed to duck behind a large urn before the door opened and someone walked out.

I peeked around and saw an old man wearing a butler uniform, with his hand on the door. He spoke to someone inside the room, "Would you like me to dismiss them, sir?"

"No, no," I heard Vlad Masters muffled voice inside. He sounded distracted, as if he were concentrating on something else. "They can stay here. This shouldn't take too long."

_What_ shouldn't take too long? I wondered earnestly. I couldn't help it, but those words sounded oddly sinister. I should really stop watching crime shows.

"As you wish, sir," The butler nodded, closing the door and retreating down the hall.

I waited until he turned around the corner before I removed myself from my hiding place. I was a little disappointed that he had closed the door. I couldn't see inside the room anymore, not that I saw much in the first place. But still.

Taking care to keep as silent as possible, I tip-toed to the door. Pulling gently on the handle, I slowly opened the door. I only made the entrance big enough to peek my head through, but it was enough.

I saw Vlad Masters pacing in agitation in the…what was it? There were huge bookshelves on the walls, a huge fireplace (unlit) on the opposite wall, with heavy leather chair, a big desk, with an open laptop resting on it. I suppose you'd call it a study.

Anyways, he was pacing. He looked seriously upset, like he just heard that his mother was seriously ill, or he lost a lot money in the stock exchange, or his in-laws were coming over to visit. Whatever it was, it clearly had him wound up. I watched him do that for a bit, wondering what he was going to do and also hoping he didn't look at the door while I was visible.

But he didn't even look my way. He was so caught up in his own little world that he didn't even noticed the door had moved.

He stopped pacing.

The action was so abrupt I almost ducked out of the room. Had he noticed me? Did he realize he wasn't alone? What was he going to do to me?

But Vlad Masters still hadn't noticed me. In fact, he looked…wired. His eyes were wide and his back unusually straight. He stood there, stock-still for a moment. Then, just as suddenly, he turned and faced the fireplace. He reached out and rested a hand on a football trophy standing on the mantel. He pulled down, revealing a hidden level inside.

I had to cover my mouth to stop myself from gasping in shock. The whole fireplace moved aside, revealing a hidden room behind it. I stared, in awed fascination, as Vlad Masters went inside.

The fireplace closed behind him.

I made my move, jumping inside and quietly closing the door behind me. What if he had motion sensors or something? Before he could come back, I rushed over to a small alcove in the corner of the room, behind a vase of a big exotic plant, and took out my notebook. I began to write in a crazed scrawl.

Did this guy have some sort of secret lab behind there? Why would he _have_ one? This was nuts! Then again, he did say he was a scientist in college. And he never got to how he reached his success. Maybe he was still a scientist. Still didn't explain why he had to be so secretive about it, though.

As I was scribbling down the words, so excited that even _I_ couldn't read my own handwriting, I heard the sound of stone grating against stone. I turned in my hiding spot, peeking out as I watched Vlad Masters exit his secret lair. Ooh, lair. That sounded so cool.

It should be said that I'm the daughter of a police detective and a journalist. Did I already say that? Well, whatever. This is not a combination most men with secrets would want to deal with, which is just what I was composed of. Filled with the desire for answers and the motivation to get them, my curiosity overtook all other thoughts and I let it lead my actions.

I waited until he left the room, then another ten seconds after that. I heard his footsteps going down the hall. Maybe he was returning to lunch. Who knows? But I had to get to the bottom of this.

I scrambled out of my hiding place and rushed to the fireplace, my heart pounding with excitement. It hadn't even occurred to me if this was legal or not, just really, really awesome. What was behind this door?

I had to reach _way_ up to get to the lever-trophy. After all, Vlad Masters was tall and this place seemed to be built just for him. No surprise there, I just wish it didn't mock my vertically-challenged issues.

As the trophy slipped in half, the fireplace began to split in two again. I was practically jumping up and down with anticipation. I know it's not a good thing – I was trespassing on someone else's property – and probably a lot of other laws I couldn't think of right now. It didn't matter. I was going in.

There was a narrow staircase going down, curving so I couldn't see the end. Looking behind me one last time, I crept down the stairs.

I pocketed my notebook and stuck the pen behind my ear for safe-keeping. The hallway was full of cobwebs and dust. There were torches along the walls, and every so often a coat of arms. I tried not to freak out when a spider dropped down on my nose, but only succeeded in a muffled shriek and tumbling the rest of the way down.

I landed with a heavy flop at the landing, a little dazed after one too many whacks on the head. My vision was blurry and it didn't help that the room was dark. Taking a few moments to collect myself and make sure I didn't break anything, I managed to get up and take a gander at my surroundings.

My jaw dropped.

I was in a gigantic room. There were metal tables and cabinets all along the walls, filled with vials and chemical equipment and things I wouldn't be seeing in high school science classes for another three years. Maybe even more after that.

The walls were made of metal, and there were very complex looking machinery at the other end of the room. Why was this place made of metal? Had this room even been here before he got the place, or did he build it himself?

On one wall was TV screen or a computer monitor. I couldn't tell which, since it wasn't turned on.

But that wasn't what caught my eye.

On the opposite wall stood the strangest thing I'd ever seen. It looked like some sort of doorway, only without the door. There was a short tunnel in, composed of wires and metal plates and vents. It seemed dormant, and I couldn't for the life of me guess what it did.

I was so totally right! Vlad Masters _did_ have a secret lab! Wait until I tell Sophie _this_! She'll _have_ to help me now. I had to learn more.

I was about to approach when I heard something behind me. It sounded faint, echoey, and drawing nearer.

_KRR-AACK!_

I was literally thrown off my feet as the floor beneath me exploded. I cried out and crashed into the floor several yards away. I managed to land on my back and not break anything, but any notion of running away was zapped out of me when I saw what came out of the floor.

Two beings rose from the floor, fighting. And when I say fighting, I mean shooting green and purple bolts of ectoplasm at each other. One was considerably smaller than the other, and it wasn't until the bigger one had the other pinned against the wall did I recognize them.

Well, maybe not recognize, per se. The smaller one was the ghost boy, Danny Phantom, from Amity Park. I couldn't believe it at first. He was _here_, of all places? How did he know there was a ghost here?

Phantom was kicking and struggling against the grip around his neck. The one who had him pinned was a ghost I had never seen before. He was tall and clad almost completely in white. He had a long, billowing cape and some seriously crazed up hairdo. He was smirking maliciously. I saw the fangs and red eyes and knew that I was in way over my head.

"Get off me, you creep!" Danny Phantom punched the bad guy in the face, who promptly dropped him. The boy flopped to the ground in a heap, but rolled as two columns of energy came his way. "Ha, missed!"

"Now, now, Daniel," the white ghost said, sneering and raising his hand. "Let's not get too cocky."

Danny Phantom was smacked in the face with a ball of energy, flying back into a table of full of colorful vials. The table immediately broke upon impact, sending up a cloud chemicals.

"It's never a smart idea to backtalk to your superiors," the evil ghost finished with a chuckle. "It might just get you incinerated."  
>"Yeah?" Danny Phantom asked defiantly, flipping off the desk and slinging it at the other ghost. "Incinerate this!"<p>

The other ghost was caught by surprise and the desk caught him in the gut. It took me a split-second to realize he was coming my way, and it took me another to throw myself out of the way before he could blow a crater into the ground.

I scrambled behind some boxes as rubble rained overhead. This was nuts! I was in the middle of a warzone, and there was no way I could get out without being seen. Or, I don't know, _killed_.

I ducked as a bolt of purple energy blew a hole into a box, missing my head by inches. The boxes surrounding it exploded and I threw myself to the ground, covering my head as more cardboard fell on top of me.

The sounds of fighting and witty banter were muffled by the boxes. For a moment, I was safe. But the weight of the boxes, whatever was inside of them, was crushing me. If I didn't get out of here soon, I'd suffocate.

Crawling on all fours, I pulled myself out of the pile and rolled under a desk as the two ghosts flew by, sparring.

"You can't beat me, Phantom!" the Wisconsin ghost cackled. "I've had twenty years of practice and you only months!"

I peeked out from under the table, staring. Mr. Wisconsin and Danny Phantom were facing off, Danny a little worse for wear. He was cut and bruised, but didn't seem to notice.

"Which probably sucks even more since you _still_ can't get the love of your life, can you, Plasmius?"  
>Plasmius, the Wisconsin guy, scowled and tried blasting Danny, but the boy dodged. He shouted, "A minor setback, boy! Soon, dear Maddie will see her mistake, and return to me!"<p>

Maddie? Minor setback? Soon? What, did this guy had a plan or something? Despite the fact that watching them fight was absolutely terrifying, I couldn't help but think that their conversation was a little odd. Who cares about love when you're fighting for your life?

Plasmius and Danny continued to fight, and I winced as more things were demolished. Man, these guys must really hate each other or something. And was it just me, or did these guys act like they knew each other? Was this the first time they battled?

I watched as Danny Phantom landed a strong round-house on Plasmius' head. I guess not.

But as I watched them duke it out I began to realize something. Both were clearly avoiding the gateway thing. Neither seemed to want to chuck the other at it or into it. Was it some sort of delicate machinery? Like, one wrong touch and everything goes ka-boom?

I didn't have a lot of time to ponder all the theories, because a whole lot of ghost boy was coming right at me.

I shot out from underneath the table, not even caring anymore that they saw me. Right now, I just wanted to stay alive.

"What the…" Danny shook his head and stared at me as I stumbled back. I tripped on some rubble and fell. "What're you _doing_ here?"

"Well, it looks like we have an audience after all," Plasmius seemed amused. At least, until he got a good look at me. "_You_?"

What? Did he recognize me or something? I've never seen him before in my life.

"Hi." I smiled awkwardly, or how anyone would when faced with a very angry and powerful ghost.

Plasmius stared at me for one whole second, which was long enough for Danny to get back up and launch himself at Plasmius. The bigger ghost reeled back as he was bombarded with a succession of ectoplasmic blasts.

"Jul – I mean, citizen! Get out of here!" Danny Phantom yelled at me, stuttering and shaking his head. I was ready to go, too, if it hadn't been for Plasmius sinking inexplicably into the floor and reappearing behind me.

I shrieked and tried to run, but two strong hands landed on my shoulders. I kicked and squirmed and struggled for all I was worth, but ghost or no ghost, this guy was tough. In fact, he even lifted me into the air by the arm (which hurt – _a lot_!), dangling me in midair as if I were some kind of bait at the end of a line.

"I must admit, you humans sure have a way of getting around." Plasmius sneered at me. "How did you get in here, child?"

"Um," I gulped, trying very hard to remain calm while in the clutches of some evil nutcase. "Hidden staircase?"

"Ah," Plasmius paused, mulling over my response. "Yes, I suppose I _could_ improve my security measures. It's bad enough that I have deal with _this_ nuisance all the time."

"Let her go, Plasmius!" Phantom demanded, floating in the air, fist clenched. His acidic green eyes were glowing particularly bright. "She hasn't done anything wrong!"

"Oh, but she has, dear Daniel," Plasmius purred. "You see, I don't take too kindly to trespassers. I've been rebuilding my portal, you see, and it would be such a shame if some foolish little girl messes it all up."

"Hey, dude!" I held up my hands in surrender. "I wasn't going to touch your portal, I swear!"

"Besides," Danny jeered, coming in fast and tackling me, which pretty much got me out of Plasmius' grip and right into the floor. "Anything you make is probably going to go bust anyways, like all your other ideas."

"My ideas are perfectly sound!" Plasmius roared, his blue face turning a deep shade of mauve. He waved his arms in the air for emphasis as he shouted, "But it seems that every time I put them into play, it's always _teenagers_ that put a stop to it! I highly doubt that's a coincidence!"

"Well," Danny Phantom paused, scratching his head. "You have a point. Grown-ups are pretty useless."

"Hey, I'm right here, you dolt!" Plasmius roared, pointing an accusatory finger at Danny. That was scary all on its own, but then he had to shoot _energy_ out of it. Danny yelped and dove to the side. Guess who was in the way when the bolt landed?

Yeah, you guessed it. Me.

"No!"

I don't know what happened next. I was standing one moment, then suddenly I was in the tunnel thing. I clutched my stomach – if felt like I just got a Heimlich maneuver from a boxer. My head cracked against the metal and I slumped to the floor, dazed.

There was a loud ringing in my ears. I could see Plasmius yelling at me from outside, but nothing was coming out of his mouth. He was waving his arms in the air again, moving in slow motion. At first, I didn't get it.

That is, until I felt the tunnel vibrating around me.

There was no warning as to what came next.

There was a flash of green light, and suddenly I was in unbearable agony.

Imagine you're a nice slab of steak, and you've just been tossed onto an electric fence. Imagine that every nerve in your body is touching those wires, times that by ten, and you still wouldn't get close to what I was going through.

I don't remember screaming, but I'm pretty sure I did. It wouldn't matter anyway, with the green and black vortex surrounding me, and then everything went dark.


	2. I Am So, So Dead

**Wow, this took forever to update! What has it been, a year? Still, kudos to anyone who still likes this story. I still have no idea where I'm going with this. So any ideas are welcome!  
><strong>

**Anyways, enjoy! All reviews are appreciated.**

* * *

><p><span><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

**I Am So, So Dead**

When I woke up I felt like I had been skinned, fried, and dipped in boiling peanut oil. On the bright side, um...well, I still haven't figured that part out. There seemed so much bad in this situation that I couldn't really see anything _good_ about it.

The first thing I remembered was that I didn't lose consciousness in the same room I woke up in. I vaguely recalled black and green light, intense pain, and some very angry ghosts giving each other the good ol' one-two. Now my fingers were numb and my head pounded like I had my own private construction crew doing renovations on my brain. Ugh, what the heck happened?

I got up from the cold hard floor. What room was this? I didn't recognize it – it certainly wasn't my own. No bed (which was pretty inconsiderate of whoever put me here), no windows, not a single piece of furniture that meant this room had any use besides freaking me out. There was a single steel door in one corner, again with no window. And to my personal horror, no doorknob.

My breath seized in my chest. I ran over, nearly tripped because I was so light-headed and had two left feet because of it, and promptly slammed face-first into the door. Ow.

The steel surface shook slightly from the impact, but otherwise didn't move. The hinges were on the other side and I couldn't see anything underneath the crack. That sealed the deal. I was effectively trapped.

I got up, clutching my stomach. Oh, man, I felt like I was going to hurl. Okay, don't panic. I'm not going to panic. I will remain calm and rational until all of..._this_ can be explained.

_Oh, my god I'm panicking_.

Breathe, Jules, breathe! Assess the situation, use your skills as a superb journalist to find out as much as you can about this situation. Start with the Five W's and move on from there.

All right, first. What the _hell_ am I wearing?

It was some strange suit – all white with thick black gloves that made my hands look 3 sizes larger, and a ridiculous pair of Captain Morgan boots that reached up to my knees. The only good thing I could find was they made me several inches taller.

As I leaned down to check out my new kicks, some of my hair fell into my face. I jerked back at the sight of it, giving myself whiplash in the process. It wasn't the fact that I _had_ hair that startled me, but the fact that it was _white._ And at least five inches longer than I last remembered it to be. It was almost as bad as the idea of losing all my hair_._

Although if I had gone bald, I'd flip out, anyways.

I've had bad run-ins with hair dye before. Once, in the sixth grade, Danny Fenton dared me to change my hair color to the same as Sam's – only to get my head turned blue instead of the intended black. Of course, it was only afterwards did we read the box and discover the dye was best used on brunettes (which Sam had cleverly hidden) than redheads (which I guess is what I qualified for).

I had hidden my hair under a snow hat to hide the embarrassment from my parents, but it proved impossible in the final weeks of May, which in Amity Park is like an oven set to the temperature of Hell. Eventually I had to show them.

Mom nearly had a conniption. Dad thought it was hilarious. It took me six whole months to grow it out.

Anyways, I now had a complete, unwarranted makeover. Next question: Where was my notebook?

Oh, no, where had it gone? I think I started going into shock. I _needed_ that notebook – it was my lifeblood, my safety blanket, my _soul_. Where was I going to keep all of my observations _now_? I didn't even have my pen to write it down somewhere else!

This was terrible. I had to rely on my own mind now, keep track of everything I came across. Maybe I'll find my notebook somewhere. Till then, I just hope I don't get hit on the head again.

Now what? Oh, right. _Who_ did this to me and where were they? Was I still in the mansion? How much time had passed since I had been knocked unconscious? Was the field trip still on or had everyone already gone home, conveniently forgetting their star journalist in the process? I couldn't believe they'd just leave without asking questions, like I would have had this happened to anyone else.

The very idea sent chills down my back. How was I going to get home once I got out? _If_ I got out. Holy crap, I had to get out of here. What if someone thought I had died? What were my parents going to think? I wasn't exactly the kind of girl who'd run away on a whim. On the other hand, I _was_ the kind of girl who'd get herself killed by into bad situations she got herself into.

I was done asking questions. I needed to get out of here.

I hoped that wherever I was, someone could hear me. I went back to the door and started slamming against it with my fists, then my entire body. I called out and shouted, projecting as loudly as I could, and made the biggest ruckus I had ever made. If someone was there, they would have a tough time ignoring me.

But no one came. My throat dried up and my voice turned hoarse. No, no, no! I didn't want to stay in here, I wanted to find answers, damn it. I couldn't take it anymore. I finally bellowed, "Let! Me! OUT!"

I slammed my shoulder one last time into the door.

_Whoom_.

And fell through it.

Yeah, you heard me. _Through _it, like I were some sort of X-Man. My arm went in first, then my head and torso, before smacking into the floor on the other side. I hadn't expected to go through, so I had way more momentum than needed. My breath was knocked out of my lungs and I curled up there for a minute, gasping for air.

When I finally recovered, I stood up. At first I thought I gained another couple inches when the world seemed smaller for a moment, then realized my feet weren't touching the ground anymore. I cried out, my back hitting the ceiling like a helium balloon untied from its post, before going through _that _as well.

And then I saw Vlad Masters in his suit, tie, the whole enchilada, sitting in a chair in some sort of library. There was a fire place behind me, but I couldn't feel the heat. I had gone straight through the floor and was still climbing, but I waved my arms to get his attention. "Hey, hey, Masters!"

He looked up from the thick book in his lap, appraised me for a few seconds, before looking back down and said, "Ah, she awakens. You certainly took your time."

My arms drooped down to the floor, my butt in the air. I glared at him, wishing he'd be more supportive in my rather supernatural situation. He looked surprisingly nonplussed at the sight of a floating girl in front of him and I had to wonder – what did he know? "What's _that_ supposed to mean? Look, I don't know about you, but I'm having a little trouble here and I'd kind of like to touch the floor again. Could you help me out?"

"Yes, that is _quite_ the predicament," Vlad Masters remarked, still not looking at me. I somehow managed to remain aloft at a steady height, apparently weighed down by the sudden anger I felt. "The name is Julia, am I right?"

"Yeah, what's your point?" Well, apparently the white hair and new clothes didn't do _that_ much to hide my identity. Boo. I crossed my arms and thought unhappy thoughts – those seemed to help with the uncontrollable floating. "Are you going to help me or not?"

"I don't know, that depends," he shrugged.

"Depends on _WHAT_?" I nearly shouted, throwing out my hands for emphasis. The longer I was up here, the antsier I got. I was afraid that I might keep going up, through the floors and the roof, straight into the sky, and on into space. My stomach started to feel sick again and I curled up, trying to contain myself.

"If I help you, you must do something for me in return." Vlad Masters replied, flipping a page of the book with his thumb. "But I already have everything I could ever want, so there is no incentive for me to help you."

"Oh, come on, I'll do anything!" I begged, scrambling through my thoughts for anything that I could bargain with. What does the man who has everything, be missing? Or maybe not want anymore? That's when I remembered the fight in the secret lab, the two ghosts fighting. "I – I can help you with your ghost problem!"

That seemed to do the trick.

Vlad Masters looked up at me with a raised eyebrow. "What ghost problem?"

"Oh, like you don't know!" I snapped. I was starting to rise again, so I had to move fast. I spoke as quickly as I could, but tried to remain clear in the process. "Look, I don't know if this is a big issue for you or not, but there were two ghosts – Danny Phantom and, uh, Plasmius, I think his name was – who were going head-to-head down in your secret lab. They're the reason I'm like this!"

"Indeed," Masters sat back, rubbing his chin. "So, if I help you control your powers, you will pursue the ghost out of your own free will?"

"Yeah, sure," I nodded my head fervently. "Whatever you want. Just help me!"

"Well, as top expert on the paranormal and supernatural, I believe the ability of flight is heavily reliant on your thoughts and emotions." Vlad Masters laced his fingers together, watching me with a close eye. "Clear your mind. See how that works."

I couldn't believe he was giving me Generic-Kung-Fu-Movie advice, but since he knew more about the subject than I did, I had to listen. I exhaled through my nose, closing my eyes and concentrated. I had thousands of questions and emotions running around, a side effect of being a kid whose job is to search for answers, and slowly pushed them away. Thinking about not thinking was a lot harder than it sounded, but I managed to figure out a way. I started counting backwards from one-hundred, a trick Dad taught me when in tense situations.

Slowly, I felt my mind coming to a rest, the thoughts fading away as I let the numbers regulate my mind. Breathe in, breathe out.

Before I knew it, I was standing on my own two feet, touching solid ground as though the idea of falling through it would never happen. I grinned at myself, jumping up and down in excitement, "Yay! I did it!"

I sounded like a five-year-old on a sugar rush. I immediately stopped when Vlad Masters started giving me the Evil Eye, like saying _Shh! This is a LIBRARY._ I flushed and brought my arms back down, trying to regain whatever dignity I had left by saying, "Um, thanks. So, do you know what happened to me? I mean, I just woke up and I look like _this_...and I have no idea why I'm suddenly walking through walls and flying!"

I felt like one of those superheroes in comic books, only instead of living in a nice city like the Big Apple or City of Angels, I was in Wisconsin. _Freaking Wisconsin._ What lamer state to be in when you develop superpowers?

"Ah, yes, that would be called _phasing_," Vlad Masters stood up, nodding his head as if the idea of me being a total freak show was totally normal. I didn't appreciate it. He could at least _pretend_ to be serious about it. "A common ability for ghosts, I must admit. Nothing spectacular."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I held up my hands, trying to catch up with this sudden tidbit of information. In the back of my mind, I was having a panic attack. How was I going to be a world famous journalist _now_? All this weird stuff was totally going to ruin my reputation! "Slow down! I'm not a ghost! I'm just a kid from Amity Park! I mean, yeah, I'm on the school newspaper, but come on – being a ghost means that I'd be...that I would have..."

I couldn't say it. I tried to form the words, but my mouth refused. My mind wouldn't accept it either. The very idea boggled my mind.

"That you would have died," Vlad Masters finished my sentence, turning to one of his bookshelves and returning the tome into an empty slot between a bunch of other huge bindings. He didn't quite look at me when he said, "Turning into a ghost is what sometimes happens to souls that have left their physical body."

I thought I might start crying. Screaming that it wasn't true. That this was impossible. I certainly didn't _feel_ dead, although it did kind of explain a few things. I placed my hand across my chest, checking for a heartbeat. I didn't know what to do when I discovered I didn't have one. "B-but...this doesn't make any sense! If I died, why didn't I move on to the After-Life? How come I'm still here, with the living?"

Vlad Masters glanced at me before looking away again. He couldn't seem to meet my eyes when he said, "A perplexing conundrum, one that I promise to look up as long as you keep up your end of the deal. For now, you are stuck on the mortal plane until you find the redemption your soul is searching for, before moving on to some higher plane of existence."

His voice was level and calm, like the words had been planned. I frowned, not liking the nonchalant attitude he was giving my apparent death. "Then what about my body? What happened to it? Is my family having a funeral?"

"I assure you I have no idea," Vlad Masters shrugged. "It's only been a couple hours, I'm sure they only think you've run away, like teenagers tend to do."

_Not me_, I thought to myself. "All right, fine. Since I'm not going anywhere, what is it you want me to do?"

"Well, surely you want to get revenge on the one who did this to you?" Vlad Masters turned to me with an eyebrow raised. I blinked, uncomprehending. "My dear, the ghost you mentioned earlier, the one who perpetrated your own demise."

"Plasmius?"

"No, not him!" Masters snapped, irritated with my inability to guess between a two ghosts in heated battle. Come on, it was a fifty-fifty chance I had it right. Maybe this guy should be a little less sensitive about ghosts he didn't know about. "Danny Phantom, you stupid girl. Had he not trespassed on my abode, he would not have fought with the resident ghost here and then got you killed! Do you see now?"

Well, he had a point. But a thought came to me, and I spoke. "Wait, I though the Cheese King was the resident ghost, not Plasmius –"

"Just go!" he ordered, giving me a sharp look. "I will not tolerate incompetence. If you fail, I'll be forced to send Plasmius to end your existence, _permanently_."

I gasped, literally gasped. He would send _Plasmius_ after me? Danny Phantom couldn't beat him, what chance did I have? And the idea of being so dead that not even my soul would move on...I shuddered just thinking about it. "Uh, yes sir. I'll, um, be on my way."

"Bring him back to me, alive," Vlad ordered, then paused, frowning at his word choice. "Well, as alive as a ghost can – Oh, you know what I mean!"

I figured some respect might make him like me more, but I wasn't counting on it. Having a vague idea how flying worked, I started to rise a few inches off the ground then – WHAM! – shot upwards and slammed my head against the ceiling. I yelped, rubbing my noggin in pain (that's great knowing that even if I was dead, I could still get hurt), before trying again and sinking through it. I really needed to practice these superpowers if I ever wanted to stand a chance against Danny Phantom.

Cool, crisp air pulled at my lengthened hair and I wondered if all ghosts had the glorious mane of an Eighties rock star. Seriously, I felt totally off balance with it. Kind of like a major hair cut, but in reverse. Or whatever.

Looking around, I only saw a wide expanse of fields and fancy houses. Where could Amity Park be? That bus ride took forever, so I knew it would be awhile till I got there. I didn't look forward to the flight back home. Should I go find Mom and Dad first? What about Soph or Milo? I really had to tell them about this, but after Vlad Master tweaked out, I was afraid of doing anything that would mean the end of my existence.

That couldn't happen. Once Danny Phantom was out of the way or whatever, he can get me human again, and I can continue my career as a world-renowned journalist. Simple as that.

Flying home was a pain. My flight pattern, if that's what they call it, was shaky at best and completely pointless at worst. I had some good moments, where I was cruising along at the speed of most highways, and other times I could have walked faster. The wind kind of helped, when my phasing didn't randomly kick in and it just went through me, along with the sensation that I was dumped in a bucket of ice water. _Brr._

By the time I saw a familiar town, the sun was shining on the other side of the world, and I had probably another fifty miles to go. I looked down below, at the tiny cars that looked like bugs finding their way through a maze of streets. I could hear the distant sounds of life and normalcy, and I wished I was down there, witnessing it all for a little Slice-of-Life piece I'd publish to the teen weekly edition at Amity Park.

The closer I got to Amity Park, the more ghosts I saw. Maybe it was because I was already dead or possibly because it was never my job to, but I've seen more floating ghouls in one day than I have in a whole week as regular ol' Julia Burke. I even recognized a few of them: the crazy lunch lady with her Mystery Meat special, the punk on his motorcycle, and the Box Ghost (who kept trying to sell me boxes).

I remember running away in fear from these guys back when I was alive. Now they were treating me like any other person; some waved, welcoming me to the realm of the dead, the others just kind of ignored me. I didn't blame them – compared to all the ghosts that have showed up in Amity Park, I was small potatoes to these guys. Who would be afraid of a dead reporter? I doubt I could _write _them to death. And since they were already dead, it didn't matter what kind of reputation I gave them. Slander and libel meant nothing here.

Ugh, I didn't stand a chance against any of these ghosts. And Danny Phantom beat them all. How was I going to defeat the guy, much less bring him in? He had, like, plasma powers and could do all sorts of ghostly stuff. As far as my powers went, I could only fly and fall through walls. Not really very intimidating.

I passed over my house, but I was too afraid to go inside. What would my parents think, seeing me dead like this? They would probably go into shock, or call the resident Ghost Busters – the Fenton's. No ghost here in Amity Park had a good rep, they were almost all causing trouble. Why would my parents think I was any different?

Instead, I headed straight for the town hall. If Vlad Masters could make me human again, alive again, then I was going to do what it takes. I wanted to go home and I was going to put my all against Danny Phantom to do it.

Wreaking havoc in the center of town turned out to be a lot harder than I thought. Since people were already at home, having dinner and going to bed, I didn't have much of an audience to panic. But I hoped that maybe I would start something, get Phantom's attention.

It took me thirty minutes to blow something up. Both Plasmius and Phantom could throw ectoplasm at each other, so I figured I could do something similar. But it shouldn't have been so hard. I practiced on the bell tower, making a racket as I waved my arms around, thrust my fists, kicked my feet, and got nothing. Come _on_, what did it take to just _get this to work_ –

I slammed the palm of my hand into the cast iron bell. With a tremendous gong, orange light exploded from my hand, smashed into the metal, and the force of the blow sent me flying.

"Ahhh!" I cried, smacking into some parked cars at the bottom of the building. Apparently, this 'phasing' thing didn't turn on and off whenever I wanted, so I got the full force of the landing. Metal crunched beneath me and I was glad that nothing felt broken. At least I didn't have to be afraid of dying again. Heh.

That was a faint reassuring thought, but I tried not to let my undead situation bother me. Getting back up, I held out my fist and concentrated. I had felt the power in my hands, traveling from my spine to my arm, and forming into a tiny orange ball inside my fingers. My fist began to glow as I accumulated a bit of ectoplasm. I stared at my hand, mesmerized. I had never seen an _orange_ ghost before. At least, not a humanoid one. Danny had always had green ectoplasm and Plasmius seemed to be purple. Others were purple or blue. What did _this_ mean?

I slammed my fist down into the hood of the car I was standing on. _Whoom!_

The car exploded into fantastic light and fire. The blaze sent me up but I managed to fly again and keep from experiencing another hard fall. I thrust my arms up into the air, "Woo! I did it! Yeah!"

I was so pleased with myself that I didn't see the incoming missile heading straight for me. One second I was dancing in midair, next I was being tackled and sent through the tarmac. _Whumph!_

"This is so weird," I heard a voice above me, oddly familiar. "I didn't sense anyone coming out of the portal, but here you are. You must've popped out from somewhere else."

I opened my eyes, still dizzy from the impact. Standing over me, with arms crossed over his chest, was none other than Danny Phantom. Oh, boy.

"Who even are you?" he asked.

"Uh..." I hadn't thought of that. I was about to say my real name, Julia Burke, but caught myself at the last second, "Julia B – um, I mean, Spirit! Julia Spirit, that's me!"

He stared at me. "You're joking, right?"

"Uh...no..." What? It wasn't _that_ bad, considering I had just made it up on the spot. I was actually quite proud of myself – quick thinking is a valued skill in journalists, particularly in tense situations. Who was he to judge me? I kind of got angry at him. Because I didn't have a lot of other reasons to hate the guy, I figured I could just channel that little frustration and hope it would be enough. I clenched my fists together and prepared to attack. "What kind of name is Danny Phantom, huh?"

"What?" Danny Phantom shook his head at my lame comeback, apparently thinking I was joking (I wasn't). With him momentarily distracted, I brought my hands up and closed my eyes as a huge burst was released from my palms.

The guy shot off me like a rocket, taking an upper cut to the jaw from the blast of plasma. I scrambled to my feet, climbing out of the small crater we made and dodged Phantom's incoming attack. I escaped the blast at the last second, tripped over the curb, and was heading face first into the wall of the town hall.

I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath, feeling with intense clarity as I went _through_ the wall. Having successfully phased, I ran through the lobby, hoping for something that might help me in this fight.

Man, I didn't think you could suck at being dead, but I was terribly mistaken. I had also seriously overestimated my ability to defeat Danny Phantom – I had no advantages over this guy. What was I thinking, promising Vlad Masters to capture the kid? I might as well have signed my death warrant.

The lobby was made of marble and thick stone columns, filled with fancy wood furniture. There was a smell of austerity here, and the tranquility was only marred by the car sirens blaring outside. I turned and grabbed the nearest thing I could lay my hands on – a nice mahogany coffee table. As Danny Phantom phased into the building, searching for me, I threw it as hard as I could, surprised by my sudden increase in strength.

Danny Phantom hadn't expected a face-plant from a coffee table when he turned in my direction, but that's exactly what happened. He yelped, knocked out of the air and dropping to ground with a very solid thud. I had hoped to knock the guy out so I could make my getaway, but Danny Phantom must've had a thick head because he got right back up again.

"A coffee table?" He grunted, rubbing his sore nose and squinting at me through the pain. "Why a _coffee table_?"

I just shrugged. What did he expect? I wasn't a pro at this stuff.

Then I panicked again and zapped him with some of that orange energy I seemed to be generating. That knocked Danny Phantom back to the ground again, but he phased through the marble tiles. Freaking out, knowing the guy was planning something, I shot into the air again. I underestimated the amount of force I put into the jump and slammed accordion-style into the vaulted ceiling. "Ow!"

That's gotta be at least three bumps on my head now. Sore now with a surprisingly bad headache (I thought the dead weren't supposed to feel any pain!), I phased through the ceiling just as Danny Phantom tackled me.

Damn! He had gone the long way around, exiting the building from underground and had waited for me to make my escape.

We smashed into the ground on the opposite side of Town Hall, in the park. Soft grass covered our landing instead of tarmac, but it didn't make too much of a difference when you're going 80 miles an hour heading straight down. I was pretty out of it for a good ten seconds. All I could see were stars – if I were a cartoon, there would be birdies flying around my head.

I was surprised I was still conscious by the end of it, having not reached the Afterlife for ghosts or something. But as I came to, I was aware of new voices, some distance away, shouting.

I understood that it was a man and a woman before I could figure out what they were saying. There was the smell of ozone in the air, large booming noises that shook the ground. Danny Phantom had mysteriously disappeared, right after saying, "Aw, no, not _them_, too!"

I rolled over to see who he had been talking about. There was a gigantic man and a curvy woman, in crazy jumpsuits and masks, wielding guns almost as big as they were. Behind the both of them was a white SUV, parked haphazardly on the grass, with an antenna sticking out of the roof. Somehow, the wording on the side looked familiar...

Oh. The Fentons! Of course, they _hated_ ghosts! But they were usually so nice...why were they looking at me like they wanted to squash me and send me straight to hell?

Wait. I'm a ghost. They're ghost hunters. Which means...

Run!

(Or fly, I guess.)

I gasped just as a giant glowing net came at me, shot from one of their large guns. Mr. Fenton cursed when I dodged beneath it, getting to my feet. I clenched my fists, trying to decide if I should take them on or run for the hills. What would Masters have me do?

Danny Phantom was already long gone. If he was scared of the Fenton Ghost-Hunters, then maybe I should be, too.

"Uh, see you later!" I said, for some reason working under the urge of politeness. Must be the reporter in me. Oh, well. I finished that off with a salute and flew into the air before I could get sucked into their newly patented ghost vacuum machine...thing. I thought I was home free until a blast of Anti-Ectoplasmic Energy or whatever the heck they call it. It hit me in the arm and sent me off my course. Which, upon further recollection, was _down. _

Specifically, bouncing off the tin roof of an apartment complex, smacking into the brick wall of a taller building across the alley, then flopping through a variety of old fabric canopies before crashing into a Dumpster. Yes, a Dumpster.

The last time I had been in one of these was when I was nosing around for evidence of Mr. Lancer caffeine addiction, which he staunchly denied during Drug Awareness week. The newspaper badgered any teacher or student that had a craving for coffee or soda, asking if any of them knew that caffeine was addictive and whether they had the willpower to quit whenever they like. Of course, most of them didn't, but Mr. Lancer sure tried his darndest to be the pinnacle of drug-freeness and had apparently dropped caffeine cold turkey. But I had my doubts and sure enough, the guy had his car loaded with empty coffee cups he indulged in before and after school hours. I had a two-week segment on my search for the truth, and in return for my hard work, I got a month of detention. I guess that old phrase my mom keeps telling me is true: no good deed goes unpunished.

(Although, maybe breaking into his office was a breach of school rules, but seriously, who's keeping count?)

So, obviously, Dumpster diving was not something I wanted to experience again, unless it was for a breaking news story – but this was not such a case, and I wanted get the heck out of there as fast as I could.

My head felt a little sore, still making me wonder how the dead can feel pain. Is that why people can't speak ill of them, because ghosts' have really sensitive feelings? Are they people, too? It was quite a topic and something I wanted to write about later. Maybe the school newspaper will publish it. Then again, maybe Mr. Lancer will give me detention.

When I got out, I felt distinctly heavier for some reason. I looked around, trying to figure out what was going on. Then I looked at myself. And gasped.

My clothes! My clothes were back! Yay! I spun around, hugging my sweatshirt to myself. And my pocketbook, it's still there! I didn't lose all my notes! My hair was back to normal! My hands didn't glow anymore! I wasn't _flying_ anymore! Yes! This is fantastic. I was human again! Maybe all it took to get rid of this ghost thing was a good knock on the head.

I grinned and giggled to myself, turning to face the street. That's when I realized I had an audience. "Oh."

Milo and Sophia stared at me, clutching each other with mouths open in silent screams of terror. Faces pale, knuckles white. They looked like...well, they looked like they'd seen a ghost.

"Hi, guys!" I waved at them, as if everything were still normal.

"Y-y-you...!" Milo pointed a shaky finger at me, trying to find his voice. His eyes seemed to widen even further as I drew closer. "You're...you just...you just _fell..._"

"...From the _sky!_" Sophia finished for him. "H-how are you not legally dead right now?"

"Well, funny thing, I _was_ just a couple minutes ago, but I think I'm fine now!" I told them, hooking a thumb at my chest. Then I held out my notebook and smiled, "Look, I still have my notes for my piece! I should go home now, I think my parents will be a little worried if I don't show up in time for dinner."

"You think _they're_ worried?" Milo demanded, looking stunned at my nonchalant behavior. I didn't see what the big deal was. The ghost thing was over. My deal with Masters was over. My life was back to normal and I couldn't be happier. He seemed determined to disagree. "We've been losing our minds! There are, like, a million questions we have to ask you! Like, where have you been all day? You didn't come back home on the bus!"

"Did – did you just say what I think you said?" Sophia squinted at me, finally shoving Milo away from her to examine me. As Milo fell on his butt into a puddle, she walked around, plucking at my clothes and hair, then sniffing at me. "You don't look like a ghost. You don't _feel_ like a ghost. And I don't know what ghosts smell like, but I'm pretty sure apple pie isn't it. Did you really just say you were a ghost? The dead kind?"

"Are there any others?" I asked, frowning at her.

"Um," Sophia paused, then scowled at me like I just proposed a logical argument against hers. In Debate Club, she could get really aggressive against her opponents. It was like watching a nature channel, when a lion tears apart an antelope; more than once has she gotten reprimands for getting physical with other members. It's how we became friends actually – we met in detention for overstepping the bounds in our respective fields. We had bonded instantly. "Ok, good point. But I'm only saying that because you're my friend. And ghosts don't have rights, so keep that in mind!"

"Maybe we should head home, before we get in trouble hanging out in an alley." Milo said with a grimace, wiping off his wet pants. "And I need a change of clothes. I hope no one sees me like this..."

Just then, the roar of a car engine boomed and grew louder. The Fenton Machine came careening down the corner and came to a jarring stop right in front of us. We all jumped back, expecting to be attacked; it was not an uncommon event when Mr. Fenton mistook strangely clad individuals for hostile ghosts, and it was a good idea for every citizen of Amity Park to remain on their guard whenever he was around.

The doors burst open and Mr. And Mrs. Fenton jumped out, armed and ready for a ghost attack. They gazed each of us in turn, and I winced, expecting them to recognize me as the ghost girl from before. But they only frowned and dropped their weapons, shoulders slumping in disappointment.

Mr. Fenton snapped his fingers, chucking his gun back into the van. "Darn, she got away! And we were so close this time! I was just ready to use my new Fenton Suck-o-Matic when the little beastie flew away!"

"I know, what a waste. And she looked like a new species, too!" Mrs. Fenton sighed, closing the back door and pulling down her hood. Out popped the surprisingly normal head of a housewife with brunette hair cut in a bob and sparkling purple eyes. Wow, Danny's mom was quite a looker. She smiled at us, as if everything were completely normal. "Hey, kids, how's it going? Seen any ghosts lately?"

We all shook our heads vigorously. Milo and Sophia closed in on me from either side, in case the Fentons' changed their mind and figured out I was the ghost girl.

"Aw, too bad," Mrs. Fenton shrugged good-naturedly, then jumped into the passenger seat while her husband ran around to the other side, a big grin on his face. As the engine started up with another ear-shattering boom and took off, she waved to us and called, "Have a good night! And don't eat any ectoplasm!"

"Who eats ectoplasm?" Milo made a face. "Yuck!"

"I don't know," Sophia said, her eyes darkening with a look that said trouble. She turned to me and patted my shoulders, much in a way that said there was no way I was going to weasel out of_ this_ situation. "But I'm sure a certain friend of ours can fill in the blanks. What do you say, Julia Burke? You up for hostile interrogation?"

"Um," I said, swallowing the urge to run away in the opposite direction. "Okay."


End file.
